


Ten Things Merlin Hates About Arthur Pendragon (& One Thing He Doesn't)

by theabbeygrange



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Fluff and Humor, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-11
Updated: 2016-02-11
Packaged: 2018-05-19 15:22:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,747
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5971774
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theabbeygrange/pseuds/theabbeygrange
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>I hate it when you tease me.<br/>I hate it when we're alone.<br/>I hate it when you call.<br/>& I hate it when you don't.<br/>I hate it when you stare at me.<br/>I hate it when you lie.<br/>I hate how much you make me laugh.<br/>I hate how you make me cry.<br/>I hate how well you know me.<br/>I hate it when I fall.</p><p>But I don’t hate this. I don’t hate my hands in his hair or his arms under my thighs, lifting me up. I don’t hate him kissing me until I'm out of breath or his lips brushing my ear as he whispers "I love you."</p><p>I don't hate that at all.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Ten Things Merlin Hates About Arthur Pendragon (& One Thing He Doesn't)

**Author's Note:**

> This is a repost of a fic I wrote in 2013, originally titled "10 Things." It's been edited and rewritten in certain places, but the premise is much the same. 
> 
> Loosely based on the poem from Ten Things I Hate About You.

* * *

**One | I hate it when you tease me.**

When Arthur comes home after practise he always saunters straight into the kitchen. One could argue that this is mainly due to the fact that it leads directly to the laundry room. I, however, am completely incapable of any sort of rational thought when it comes to one Arthur Pendragon so I instead choose to believe that he makes this special trip simply because he enjoys pestering me. Especially when I have friends over. He does so love an audience.

I can't see him from where I'm sat with my back to the adjoining utility room, but it isn't all that hard to figure out that he must be putting on a bit of show. Freya and Elena have gone unusually quiet and are staring unblinkingly behind me. It would almost be a relief to find that their bush baby-like stares are due to the fact that there's a weeping angel standing next to the sink, instead of the painfully arousing sight of my best mate stripping his kit off behind me. I don't even need to turn around to know that I'm right.

My unfortunate relationship with rationality comes second only to my even more unfortunate (read: nonexistent) relationship with self preservation, so I turn around anyway.

He’s polite enough to throw us a cursory glance before mumbling a quick "hello" and shrugging out of his rain-slick jacket. It lands with a squelch at his feet and then he’s reaching his arms up over his head, pulling his shirt up from between his shoulder blades. I look back to the girls who seem to have forgotten that we were in the middle of a conversation and have abandoned it in favour of watching Arthur as he strips his damp training top off and throws it straight into the front loader washing machine.

Years of exposure to that particular sight have bestowed upon me the ability to reign in the urge to drool, but the same can't be said for them. I roll my eyes at their less than stealth ogling and grab a lolly from our bowl of sweets while I patiently wait for the entertainment that is my flatmate to make himself scarce. I’m resigned to the fact that any attempt at conversation is pointless until he’s gone. Or at least wearing clothes.

I turn back to watch him as he bends over to remove the rest of his gear and instead of admiring the view (because I do have some self control, damnit), I frown at the gloves he’s dumped on the bench next to the clean dishes in the dish drainer. He catches it, looking up at me through the hanging forelock of his hair that still manages to be artfully tousled even when it’s wet.

“Girls night, Merlin?”

Git.

But I still smile, nod, and play along because, honestly, it's the only way to win with Arthur. I’m finding the play of muscles across his back and shoulders as he unties his trainers to be profoundly irritating, so I look away again and distract myself with the lolly instead. It’s strawberry, bright pink, and slightly phallic. It does nothing to divert my thoughts from dangerous territory. I glare at its blatant betrayal and answer without looking at him. "Chick flick fest. Care to join?" Not a chance.

I hear him snort. “More dance movies?”

The girls erupt into giggles and I scowl at them. What could possibly be attractive about a half naked man making fun of your taste in movies? “Step Up is more than just a 'dance movie.’” It's good that I'm facing away from him because the childish pout that I can't seem to control is something he would crow about for weeks. I don’t even know why I’m defending that bloody movie; I only watched it because something about Channing Tatum reminded me of- "How long does it take to put a load of washing on, exactly?"

I've never been more relieved to hear the low hum of the washer as it begins its cycle. That relief is extremely short lived, however, because suddenly the traitorous lollipop is being forcibly removed from between my lips. I whirl around in shock and find Arthur grinning around _my_ lolly that he now has in _his_ mouth. He's all wet hair and bare chest and offensively low-slung track pants, which is just not on. “Arthur! Give it back!”

I reach for it and he grabs my forearm, keeping me easily at bay. I stand and make a better effort, up on my tiptoes now because he’s pulled it out from between his lips and is holding it up high, smiling widely as he fights to keep me away. Forget the fact that I'm actually an inch or so taller than him; I know I’m getting unnecessarily cross over a stupid lollipop and I should just give it to him, but he’s dangling it just a few inches away from me like bait on a fishing line and I’m sure I can just grab it if I reach a little further and put a stop to this ridiculous dance we’re doing.

“Arthur! Don’t be an dollophead!”

He stops pulling away and raises his eyebrows at me. I can hear some sort of muffled sound from the girls that sounds suspiciously like "oooh" but I ignore it. I'm determined to stand my ground now. He puts the lollipop back in his mouth and locks eyes with mine. The protruding stick moves a little as he does inappropriate things to it with his tongue. Our stare down continues as he removes it with a loud POP! and holds it up to my lips.

“Here.”

I lift a disbelieving brow. He smirks and waits for my response. Never one to refuse a challenge (which is how we met, actually, but that's a story for another time), I set my lips in a determined line before leaning forward and closing my mouth around it. It’s warm and slippery and I try not to think about what his tongue had been doing to it mere seconds before.

He starts after a moment and gives a short amused huff. I risk a glance at the girls, who are looking more enthralled than I’ve ever seen them during our movie marathons, and decide that this particular show needs to end before I do something embarrassing, like offer to give him my lolly as long as he's willing to let me suck his. I turn and push him a little more forcefully than necessary.

“You need a wash," my nose wrinkles. "You're foul.”

He smiles and, to my horror, proceeds to lift me up and rub his face and hair all over my shirt like a wet dog drying his fur coat on the carpet. I let out a very manly and not at all high pitched squeak as he spins me around before dumping me unceremoniously back on my feet.

He turns and strides out of the room before calling back over his shoulder, "You love it!"

I straighten my shirt and kick my chair back to fall into it again, trying to calm my hyperactive blood which seems to be racing through my veins and right up to my burning ears. I avoid Freya's pointed look until she clears her throat.

“He,” she pauses long enough to catch my eye, "must be a distraction.”

Elena grins and nods giddily. “He is _so_ fit.”

I can't help the traitorous thought that runs through my mind: _I know_. I shake my head, more to shake off the feeling of his arms around me than anything else. "He’s a pain in the arse.”

Elena rolls her eyes while Freya looks on disbelievingly. “Oh yeah, sure, it must be horrible for you, having a half naked sex god wandering around your kitchen at all hours.”

“Sh!” I flail in my seat a bit before leaning back to shoot a quick glance at the door. "His ego doesn’t need to hear stuff like that! It'll explode!”

Freya arches a knowing brow at me and I push up from the table a little too quickly.

“Well, come on,” I snatch up the bowl of sweets, intent on distracting them with horrible pop music and Channing Tatum, a truly unstoppable duo. “Let’s get this marathon started.”

* * *

**Two | I hate it when we're alone.**

"What’s for dinner?”

"Food.”

"That's original.”

"Cioppino.”

He leans over my shoulder, sticks his finger in the pot I’m stirring, and licks it. His mouth is much too close to my ear for my liking and his hum of approval is just as distracting. He’s just had a shower and I can smell the soap on his skin, the spice of his underarm deodorant, and the scent of that goddamn cologne I should never have gotten for him.

"Nice.”

Indeed.

He stays there, lounging against the counter, all bare feet and cashmere jumper that I sort of want to rub my face all over like a deranged cat. Instead, I push away from the stove and pick up the wine bottle to tip more into my glass.

He fills up the kitchen with his long legs and broad shoulders and I wish he’d move. I wish Lance would walk in right now, or Gwen, or both of them, but I know they’re still sitting on the couch with their legs wound around each other and fingers intertwined, as always. I have to stir the pot again, so I bite back a sigh and go back to the stovetop. He hasn't moved.

The feel of his fingertips on my arm makes me breathe in a little sharply, but I manage to stop myself from flinching. I stare steadily into the pot as they trail up my neck and curl into my hair. He always does that. I'm waiting for the day he learns that any attempts to tame it are futile. He tugs it a little, then drags his hand back down and presses gently at the base of my neck before finally taking his hand away.

That same hand starts creeping its way toward the pot again and I reach out and smack it sharply. He draws back and laughs, then grabs his beer off the counter before finally walking out and leaving me alone.

* * *

**Three | I hate it when you call.**

"You busy?”

"I've got to get this lab finished before Gauis shames me with The Brow of Doom.”

“Meet me for lunch.”

“I can’t.”

“Come on, we’ll be quick.”

“I can’t, Arthur.”

“Workaholic nerd.”

“Lazy jock.”

“Hey, did you hear about Morgause?”

“Yeah, pregnant, right?”

“Yeah, Cenred just told us.”

“Yikes. How did that happen?”

“Well, Merlin, when the Mummy Bee and the Daddy Bee love each other very much...”

“Funny. I mean, I thought Cenred wasn’t even sure he should be with her, last I heard.”

“Yeah, well, he better be sure now.”

“Mm.”

“Come to lunch.”

“Can’t.”

“Come on, Merls! Don’t be boring.”

“I can’t. I already said no to Val.”

“Great! That means you’re totally free then.”

“No!”

“Come on. I’ve only got a couple of hours, then I’m training all night. I’ll be your best mate.”

“You're already my best mate.”

“Yeah, but please?”

“I said no.”

“You're saying 'yes' wrong.”

“You're impossible, you know.”

“I know. But we’ll go Thai, get those little toast things you like so much.”

“Five minutes. Make sure you’re there.”

“You’re the best! My treat.”

* * *

  **Four | & I hate it when you don't.**

I don’t like being the centre of attention like this. It’s unnerving and makes me itch. The napkin that I'm twisting in my hand is my only saving grace while I try to grin and bear everyone coming up to me, laughing and congratulating themselves on being able to surprise me by turning up to this dinner for my birthday.

Some of them bring up presents and it’s awful – it’s not actually my birthday yet. I smile woodenly. Val is grinning at me, so proud of himself, and I force my smile to spread a little wider. I catch sight of Will and wonder where Arthur is.

“So. Did I surprise you?” Val winds his arm around my waist and presses me to his side, kisses my temple.

I nod because it’s true. Just not in a good way.

Will comes over then and I fall gratefully into his arms.

“Happy Birthday, Merls.” I even forgive the nickname and stay wrapped in his familiar warmth for a moment. He smiles down at me and presses a kiss to my forehead, then steps back to make room for Freya to embrace me too.

“Arthur says he’s sorry he can’t come. They’ve got a game tonight; Everton in Merseyside.” I see him throw a distinct glare at Val but it’s gone in a moment and he ruffles my hair affectionately. “But we’ll all have our own thing, anyway,” he says in a lower tone. I nod numbly and sit down at the table.

The restaurant is beautiful, serves fine French cuisine, and is very expensive.

I hate it.

I hate it when they bring out a cake and I hate it when they start to sing. I look around for Arthur then, to share a cringe, forgetting for a moment that he’s not there. He’d hate this too.

I excuse myself to go to the bathroom and Val runs his hand down my arm, then squeezes my fingers. I smile at him and run my hand through his hair before I walk off. I'm fighting valiantly (ha, ha. God, I need more champagne.) to keep my annoyance with him at bay. I know he meant well.

The chefs in the kitchen have their heads bent as I pass the service window and I notice that they’re listening intently to an old radio as they work. Football commentary.

I glance over my shoulder and move closer to hear more.

* * *

**Five | I hate it when you stare at me.**

I should stop eating this popcorn. The kernels always get stuck in the cracks of my teeth that Arthur broke that one time in Paris. He was attempting to save me from a rogue cyclist, but still. Anyway, popcorn is popcorn and I can’t stop; it’s too good.

Arthur’s hand collides with mine as he claws his way into the huge bowl on my lap and grabs a handful of popcorn. He’s sitting slouched down in the seat, his legs sprawled out in front of him. He’s transfixed by whatever's on the screen, picking popcorn out of one hand and putting it into his mouth with the other.

I frown at his feet. He's wearing flip flops and it's only Spring. He has faded jeans on, an old sweater, and a beanie.

Flip flops. And a _beanie_. It's so ridiculously Arthur that I can't help but smile.

The light from the film flickers over his face as he keeps feeding himself popcorn and I’m just about to look away when he throws some at me, not taking his eyes off of the screen. The small tug at the corner of his mouth gives him away though.

I whip my head back around, determinedly concentrating on the movie again. A few more scenes in, I unwrap a lollipop before slouching down further in my seat.

The story is getting pretty intense and I sit immobile while a crucial bit plays out, the lolly poised just in front of my lips. I don’t think about what I must look like until I get that strange I'm-being-watched feeling and I turn to see Arthur studying me intently. I frown at him and sit up straighter. I really shouldn’t be able to tell how blue his eyes are in this low light.

He grins and reaches for my lollipop and I try to swat him away but he’s determined. He pulls it out of my mouth and puts it straight into his. I shake my head, making a "tsk" noise whilst rummaging around in my pocket for another. The unamused huff next to me is enough to make me grin.

I unwrap my freshly supplied lolly and stick it in my mouth, leaning my elbow on the armrest between us with my hand subtly covering my face. I think I hear him laugh but the movie isn’t funny.

* * *

**Six | I hate it when you lie.**

He’s pissed off. I can tell.

He shuts the drawers a bit harder when he puts away the cutlery and he isn’t laughing or joking with me. I think he’s trying not to be obvious about it, but Arthur's never really grasped the concept of subtlety.

We’re at my Mum's, doing the dishes. She always laughs that we do it this way, side by side, my elbow digging into Arthur's side while he's left to defend himself with nothing but a dishtowel, but she’s given up trying to stop us now. It’s just the way I was brought up – you don’t let someone make you a beautiful dinner like Mum always does and then leave her to also clean up after, so I always grab a towel and Arthur always helps me. Plus, it just feels wrong for me to use my magic for it in my Mum's house after all of those years spent reinforcing the fact that it needed to stay a secret. Will laughs at us too and heads for the lounge or to the porch with his dad.

“What’s up with you?”

He actually seems surprised. I'm kind of offended. Despite what he thinks, I'm not actually an idiot.

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, what’s wrong? You’re pissed off. Don't think I haven't noticed.”

He studies me, sizing me up, and it looks a lot like he’s trying to decide if he should tell me or not. It makes me unbearably nervous and I suddenly wish that I hadn’t said anything. I reach past him for another dish.

“It’s about Val.”

His tone instantly annoys me.

“What about him?”

“Leon said he saw him out on Friday night.”

“So?”

He looks uncomfortable now, shifts his weight from one foot to the other.

“So, he wasn’t alone.”

I can feel my face starting to warm and I shut a cupboard door a little too forcefully. “What are you getting at, Arthur? Never pegged you as the gossiping housewife type.”

He leans against the sink and folds his arms. I get the strangest impression that it’s to stop himself from grabbing me by the arms and shaking me none too gently. “I'm not gossiping! I'm listening to Leon, whom I trust, and I’m telling you, whom I care about, what he said.”

I mirror his stance, my arms folded. His eyes are flashing and he looks to be losing control of his temper. I feel the same way, because it’s taking all of my self control not to walk out on the spot. My voice comes out quiet and low and I don't really recognise it.

“And what, exactly, did Leon say?”

A strange sadness crosses his features for a moment, but it's gone just as quickly. He sets his jaw and looks at me, full of determination.

“He said he was there with that Edwin bloke. From his office.”

My stomach drops but I grit my teeth and fight not to show it.

“So?”

“Jesus, Merlin, I don’t have to spell it out for you!”

I glare at him, barely restraining myself. “You,” I say in that strange voice again, “have never liked Valiant.”

He laughs, a harsh sound devoid of humour.

“Yeah, well, that’s because he’s a fuckwit.”

My mouth almost drops open. I stare at him, dumbfounded for a moment, and then push away from the counter.

“Nice, Arthur. Real nice.”

I don't turn back when he calls after me.

* * *

**Seven | I hate how much you make me laugh.**

I hear him stumble through the front door, hear the thump of his wellies being thrown under the bench. I try not to smile, and sink my hands into the hot water in the kitchen sink.

He comes in and ruffles my hair before planting a kiss on top of my head. I hate that big brother kiss. He always does it, though, after we've fought. It's almost like an apology.

But I’m glad there’s no ill will between us from the other night at my Mum's. We both seem to have decided to just pretend the argument never happened.

“Hi.”

“Good day?”

“Yeah, fine, you?”

“Nothing exciting.”

I know he’s standing in front of the fridge, staring into it but probably not actually seeing any of its contents, as he and Gwaine always do when they come home. I expect whining, maybe even getting manhandled out the door to go to whatever restaurant Arthur feels like gracing with his presence tonight. What I don't expect is his quiet laughter. “Why do you always do that?”

I turn around in time to see him gesture at the mound of bubbles protruding from the sink.

“I don’t know," I look back and grab another plate to wash. "I just find it more satisfying this way, I guess.”

“Hm.” He finally finds some cold chicken and brings it over to the counter next to me, picking at it while he talks. “I suppose. But I know if I had magic to do my housework, I'd sure as hell use it on everything.”

"That's because," I smile and look at him then, feeling an overwhelming urge to grab a handful of white foamy suds and place them on his nose, "you're a lazy git." So I do.

He looks at me with wide eyes and then laughs, wiping the suds off.

“You’re asking for it, you know.”

I arch an eyebrow at him in challenge, but he’s already grabbed my wrists with one hand and scooped a handful of suds from the sink with the other before I can even react. I try and lean back but I don’t get far before he shoves them right into my face. I glare at his mocking smirk through the suds and raise my hand toward the sink.

“You are So. Dead.”

My eyes glow gold as I aim a quick spell at the soap suds and they start spilling out of the sink in all directions.

“Oi, where’s the satisfaction in that?” Arthur yells, grinning as he backs away from me and darts around the dining table. I grab an armful of suds and chase after him. I throw them and miss; not very aerodynamic, soap bubbles.

He dodges around me and grabs an armful, dumping them on my head and running away before I can even blink the suds out of my eyes. I can’t even see him now, so I aim the next spell in the direction of the sink and flick it toward the sound of his laughter.

I wipe the foam away and open my eyes to the welcome sight of Arthur absolutely covered in suds from head to toe, looking like the abominable snowman. I crack up laughing, doubling over as he blows out some air and sends bubbles floating away. “That’s it.”

I shriek like a girl again but I’m laughing too much to care or run as he comes toward me, arms out, and then he's right there, wrapping them around me. I try to struggle away but he slips on the wet floor, and I fall with him, both of us landing with a thud on the kitchen tile.

There’s no sound for a bit while we both suffer through that silent laughter that hurts your stomach but promises at least one small ab muscle for your trouble. One of his arms is still around my waist, the other in the process of bringing his hand up to wipe his face. I can’t stop laughing and he shoves some suds into my mouth in retaliation.

This is how Gwaine finds us: laughing hysterically, soaking wet and covered in suds, the entire kitchen a complete bombsite. He freezes in the doorway, looking from me, to Arthur, and back again.

“Oookay...”

His eyes take in the whole scene as he backs away slowly. He's turned and run back out into the hallway within seconds.

Arthur and I look at each other for a short moment, a silent agreement made between us.

"Get him!"

We jump up at the same time and give chase.

* * *

  **Eight | I hate how you make me cry.**

“Oooh! I love this song!”

Elena grabs my hand and starts pulling me toward the dance floor. I let her because I like this song too. Who could hate Amy Winehouse's version of Valerie?

We dance (unimpressively) together and arrive back at the booth breathless and laughing. We slide in next to Gwaine, Freya, Lance, and Gwen who’s not drinking because she’s (surprise!) pregnant. Arthur is talking to some girl I don’t recognise at the next table over, but he throws me a smile.

I take a drink and look around for Val, but it's pointless. It's impossible to make anyone out in this crowd.

An hour later, he’s still nowhere to be seen and people are starting to filter out. Arthur gets me another drink and we’re all talking and having a good time, but I still can’t stop myself from glancing around.

“Do you want me to go look for him?”

Arthur’s bent close, his face angled away from the others, his eyes looking into mine.

“Oh, no, it’s fine. He’ll turn up eventually.” Most unconvincing denial _ever_. Well done, me.

He must think so too, because he stands up quickly. “I’ll go look for him.”

He’s gone for quite a while and now I’m glancing around looking for both of them. I sigh and tell Freya I'm going to the gents before sliding out of the booth and braving the throng of drunk twenty-somethings.

Getting through the corridor that leads to the lavatories is almost impossible; I have to push past a few people who are crowded in the narrow space, all appearing to be watching- something. I frown at the sound of several loud grunts and one pain-filled hiss and squeeze through. There are two people fighting in the hallway and one of them gets thrown against the wall with a resounding thud and I’m shocked to see that it's Valiant.

“Val-” I start to call out to him but the words lodge uncomfortably in my throat when I realise that it’s Arthur he’s fighting with.

“Arthur!?”

My voice distracts him just as Val aims a punch at his jaw. Arthur dodges and manages to avoid the brunt of it before tackling Valiant to the ground. I’m absolutely dumbstruck and start to summon my magic before I realise that we’re in a crowded club and I can’t do anything anyway. Not here. Not in front of all these people.

“Arthur, stop!”

I’m scared now; I can see how angry he is. Thankfully, two bouncers make their way through the crowd and start to pull them apart before Arthur embeds Valiant in the wall.

Val is breathing heavily, his brow split and his nose bleeding.

“You’re fucking crazy, Pendragon!”

Arthur doesn’t say anything, he just wrestles his way out of the bouncers' vice-like grip and goes after him again. It takes all their concentration to hold him back. They herd both of them out of the corridor and to the front of the club while I run over to quickly explain things to Gwaine before following them out the door as they’re both chucked roughly into the street. Val storms off to hail a cab and I call out to him but he doesn’t respond. I look back to Arthur who’s breathing heavily through his nose and watching me, eyes wild.

“What the _hell_ was that?” He shakes his head but says nothing. “Arthur?”

“You deserve so much better than that, Merlin.”

White hot anger washes through me and I step right into his personal space. “And who put you in charge of my love life, Arthur? You- you think- what gives you the right? I hate -” I can’t speak properly in my rage and I swipe angrily at hot tears that have come out of nowhere. He’s watching me steadily, a frown of confusion on his face.

“I hate this whole," I wave my hands around perfunctorily, "protective big brother thing you do to me, Arthur! I don’t want it anymore! I hate this! What you do to me, every day, Arthur, you - you _torture_ me!”

He looks confused and I have to admit I don’t blame him; I have no idea what I’m saying anymore, the words are just coming out in a never ending stream.

“You can’t play with me like you do. I’m sick of it. I’m so sick of it.” I can't stop the tears and I’m ashamed and embarrassed and I don’t, for the life of me, know how to stop it all.

“Merlin, I-”

“You have no idea, Arthur, _no idea_ what you do to me. I just want you to leave me alone.”

His face falls but he steps closer still and rests his hands on my arms. The tension in his shoulders betrays the anger still simmering underneath it all, but then he gets this look, all soft eyes and - I don't even know. I look away. He drops his head, his lips inches away from mine. Our eyes lock.

Oh.

 _No_.

I push him forcefully by his shoulders and force my next words out through clenched teeth.

“Don’t you dare,” I turn and walk away, briefly catching the wide eyes of Gwen and Elena as they come down the front steps towards me. I look back at Arthur, standing there seemingly frozen. "I don’t want your pity, Arthur. I 'deserve better,' you said. Better than that.”

I swallow hard before I turn and walk away.

* * *

**Nine | I hate how well you know me.**

The roaring crowd just increases the gnawing nervousness in my stomach and I sink further into my seat beside Elena that's safely tucked away next to the wall. My view through the glass overlooks the massive pitch below and I have a clear view of all forty thousand plus people who’ve come to the game. I don’t know how Arthur does this. I get nervous just watching.

Will passes me a drink and I take off my gloves and grab it gratefully, the hot chocolate warming me up. I realise it's terribly un-British of me, but hot chocolate trumps tea any day and really, who can say no to chocolate? It tames the monster that inhabits Morgana's uterus on a monthly basis, and I will bow down and worship any entity that can stop her from turning into a scary dragon lady. Well, more of a dragon lady than usual, anyway.

I look at all the people wrapped up against the cold in the stands outside and am grateful we’re afforded the privilege of a corporate box, being friends of the team. I watch Arsenal move about the pitch in their bright red uniforms and my eyes automatically follow Arthur as he jukes to the left of another player and passes the ball. Elena hands me the binoculars and I take them, though Arthur is off to the side now, arguing, it seems, with a ref over his last call. I’m kind of not interested in the rest of the match so it's easy to get lost in my own thoughts. I don't like them much, these days. They always go back to that night.

It's been three weeks and Arthur and I haven't said a word to each other. He’s been fine about it, really, just keeps to his room most days and puts in extra hours at the gym in an attempt to give me space. It's awful. I’d really rather he yelled at me and told me what an idiot I was.

To his credit, he hasn’t given a hint of the classic ‘I told you so’ attitude I've come to expect from him over the years. Not even when he must’ve heard that, when I learned he’d found Valiant in a compromising position with some girl at that club, I broke it off. I haven’t even had the guts to apologise to him yet, but coming to this game is meant to be a bit of a peace offering. I’m working myself up to staging the big apology afterwards.

The crowd explodes into a frenzy all of the sudden, their cheers a dull roar through the glass. I look up just in time to see the players piling on top of each other. Thankfully, the large flatscreen hung on the far wall is replaying the last 30 seconds of the game and I see Arthur bounding into the air, the ball ricocheting off the side of his head and into the net. I gasp as he falls to the ground, rolls over and is up again before I can blink.

“Holy– that must be some kind of record!” Will’s banging happily on the glass and shouting, waving a Gunnersaurus sock puppet around. He looks like an absolute muppet and I’m in shock, because how can the game be over already? I'll have to follow through with my plan to apologise soon. Balls. I feel a little sick.

I watch as Arthur jumps around, surrounded now by his teammates who are giving him hugs and clapping their hands on his back. He takes it good naturedly and then turns and walks away from them. I frown in confusion when Elena nudges my arm. I watch Arthur turn and look up in our direction before I take my eyes away from the replay on the screen and look at her.

She’s pointing at the pitch. I look down and am shocked to see the field is empty. The stadium has been blanketed with an unusual hush and I look around and then back to the field.

And double take.

It isn't empty. Arthur is still there and he has this determined look on his face and I feel this eerie sense of foreboding. He gestures to the large screen perched high above the stadium. In large shimmering letters now blinking above the stands are the words _I love you, Merlin Emrys_. My mouth falls comically open. I’m vaguely aware of Elena squealing and bouncing around in the seat next to me. I read the words again, mostly because I don’t know what else to do.

Bloody hell.

He’s standing there, looking up and right at me, his arms spread in a sorry-but-I-didn't-know-what-else-to-do gesture. The crowd is cheering insanely but I get the feeling he doesn’t even notice. His expression is all at once relieved and unfathomably sad.

He raises a microphone to his lips and I’m sort of mortified; I want to stop him but I couldn’t actually move or talk right now if my life depended on it.

I hear his voice clearly over the stadium noise.

“Merlin. I know you won’t like this, but I -" He shrugs. "I’ve been trying to figure out how to prove to you, how to show you how I feel so that you’ll believe me. You know this is the last thing I’d want to do... out here, in front of everyone, but it’s because I don’t care who knows how I feel about you.

“I love you, Merlin. I’ve loved you all along. It’s... It's why I act the way I do, why I _do_ anything, really. It’s why I breathe in and out every day. It’s the only thing about me that’s stayed the same since I met you and it always will. I’ll always be in love with you.

“It's okay if you don't feel the same. And I am sorry – about all this.” He grins sheepishly and shrugs. “I just wanted to let you know.”

He starts walking then, away from the thousands of screaming fans who are probably only moments away from charging out of the stands and into the tunnel that Arthur just disappeared into. In a daze I turn to look at all the faces in the room. They all stare back unabashedly. Will has a dumb grin on his face and Elena rubs my arm where she'd knocked it multiple times while in the throes of her strange happy dance during Arthur's speech. Feeling hasn’t returned to my limbs yet and I just sit there, frozen and bewildered.

Will steps forward and gently grabs my arms, helping me rise from my seat. He looks into my eyes and smiles wickedly.

“So?”

* * *

**Ten | I hate it when I fall.**

My footsteps echo loudly off the concrete walls as I run through the tunnel, my head whipping from side to side to read the signs on the doors.

I’m glad there’s no one around anymore; too many heads turned to look at me as I ran down here and their exclamations were far from quiet.

“...him!”

“...there, look!”

“...Emrys, that’s...”

Now that I’m in the deserted corridors under the stadium, away from prying eyes, it’s much better, though the fact that it’s so empty makes me worry that Arthur's probably already left with the team for their post-game celebratory pub crawl.

Finally I find a sign – Gunners Locker Room. It’s what the guard at the tunnel entrance had told me to look for, after he’d given me a knowing smile that I pointedly ignored.

I’m about to open the door when two of Arthur's teammates come out. They both stop when they see me, their knowing grins a mirror image of the guard's at the start of the tunnel. Honestly, does _everyone_ know?

Oh, right. The prat declared his love for me in a stadium full of thousands of fans and two football teams.

I am so screwed.

The tallest one, whom I recognise as Percival, waves me inside. “He’s in there.”

I mumble a thanks and quickly move past them.

Arthur’s standing in front of his locker, head down and shoulders hunched. He lets out a sigh and slams it shut, shouldering his bag and making for the door. That's when he notices me and comes to an abrupt halt. I’m frozen too, but mostly because, even after my desperate flight to find him, I honestly can’t think of anything to say.

He runs a hand through his wet hair and steps forward, rubbing the back of his neck self-consciously.

“Hi.”

“Hi.” I manage that, at least, and feel quite proud of myself. But then I remember that I had resolved to apologise for being a blind wanker all those weeks ago and “I’m sorry,” comes out before I have a chance to freeze up. Again.

He looks puzzled. “You're sorry?”

I nod, feeling ridiculous. “For that night at the club. For yelling at you. Especially when - well. You were right.”

He pushes a hand through his hair again and shrugs. “It was... I’m sorry about that night, too. I could've handled it better.”

I nod again and we both stand there in silence, not looking at each other. Finally, he speaks. “I’m sorry, too, about tonight.”

I shake my head. “No, you,” I steel myself and look into his eyes. “you don’t need to be.”

He watches me carefully, the ghost of a smile on his lips. "I can’t believe you came in here apologising to me."

I smile, too, and it’s a relief. “Well, it was something I needed to do.”

He nods and grins at me. “Nerd.”

I close my eyes for a moment and smile. “Jock.”

He moves toward me, much too slowly for my liking, so I rush at him and take no small amount of satisfaction in the "oompf!" my tackle pushes out of him. I wish I had more self-restraint, could make him wait it out, but when it comes to Arthur I have no self control. It’s something I’ve always hated about him. Me. Him. Whatever.

But I don’t hate this. I don’t hate my hands in his hair or his arms under my thighs, lifting me up. I don’t hate him kissing me until I'm out of breath or his lips brushing my ear as he whispers " _I love you_."

I don’t hate that at all.


End file.
